


A Spadean Christmas

by thedoctorwatcheshetalia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, King - Freeform, M/M, Queen - Freeform, my babes, spades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5871796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedoctorwatcheshetalia/pseuds/thedoctorwatcheshetalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been three long years since Arthur had seen his King.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spadean Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> For Day Seven of the USUK Winter Wonderland 2015: Free Day. I hope it doesn’t suck, it was unbeta-d and a bit rushed… wait, a lot rushed.

As the war grew to a triumphant end, the queen of Spades found himself retreating frequently to the balcony that jutted out of his chambers… just _waiting._ The structure left him with a view of what used to be a breathtaking garden of multicolored flowers- but it was now all barren and white, glistening with simplistic beauty in the freshly fallen snow.

The warmth of what used to be, and what _had_ been, seeped into his skin and the queen’s lips quirked up in a small smile as the fond memories flooded back to him. The first time he’d met his king was right where he was standing now, as awkward as first meetings could’ve been… and their first kiss, which had left him gasping for air as his king took him against the wall- their first fight, which had resulted in a painting being thrown over the railing and a crazed queen sobbing in the corner, behind the vines that had crawled up the castle wall making home in his personal garden.

A particularly freezing gust of wind put a chatter in Arthur’s teeth and the queen wrapped his robe tighter around him in a desperate attempt to keep what little heat he had left, everything pleasant in his mind being washed away like a cruel dream. Arthur could almost feel the frost in the air creeping into his hollow chest and he had to blink quite a few times to keep the tears on his lashes from clinking as solid ice.

How long had it been?

_Years._

_Three long years_ to be exact.

Three _long_ years since he had seen his beloved king.

And if Arthur was being honest, he had contemplated jumping off that very balcony and ending his miserable life months ago. The freefall through the cold winter air would numb him and he’d hit the ground with a peaceful smile playing across his features, finally at rest, his dark damp blood seeping into the snow and coloring it a vivid crimson. 

But the thought of seeing those azure eyes again gave him the will to move along.

And by no means was the queen of Spades a simple bobble head for the kingdom. He was one of the best warriors the Spades had… and _foolish Alfred!_ The king wasn’t _supposed_ to fall in love with his queen! If the stupid git had just _minded his own business_ instead of being so _damn_ charming, maybe he’d have let Arthur fight alongside him instead of having to leave for battle while Arthur was asleep. Maybe then Arthur would’ve had a chance to say goodbye. Maybe he would be with Alfred, and not two kingdoms away.

Then, Arthur wouldn’t be spending his third Christmas alone, wishing on every star in the sky for his husband to be in his arms.

Now, the queen had long since stopped believing in such things. A star was a star- just a ball of hot gasses in the universe- and all he was doing was wasting his time with it. But he couldn’t help the ounce of hope fluttering in his chest as his eyes flickered up to the darkening sky. The little bright speck called out to him with false promises and Arthur had no choice but to clasp his hands and shut his eyes so tight the lids wrinkled, whispering out to the star until his lungs felt like they were imploding.

_That’s when he heard it._

One eye peeked open at the sound of the faint horns, and as the cheering and clapping grew louder, Arthur felt the warmth flood back into his system, the blood rushing to his cheeks making him feel a bit light-headed.

If the queen squinted hard enough, he could see the tip of a golden carriage moving along the horizon- and a warm, throbbing heat seemed to sear from his lower back, where his Spades tattoo was inked into his skin.

_Alfred._

The monarchy of spades was said to be connected by their marks, and Arthur didn’t doubt that for a second, seeing as their world was teeming with all sorts of magic. Every second he spent with Alfred made him ache for the king even more in his absence, sort of like a tugging at his mark that was never really gone until Arthur was with _him._

So when he was sure he heard the chorus of people outside the castle begin to cheer, Arthur let the smile tugging at his lips bloom into a toothy grin.

_His king was coming back to him._

Arthur’s heart felt like it was giving out and the monarch clutched his chest to force breaths into his lungs. This was the moment he’d been waiting for for three years, he shouldn’t be anxious _now!_ But alas, the queen found himself realizing he hadn’t properly brushed his hair in weeks, and he probably looked like an undergrown imp, with cheeks ruddy red from the cold. There was no _way_ he could be seen like this.

The queen scrambled back into his bedroom, shutting the doors to the balcony hastily as he scurried about trying to make it look like he _hadn’t_ lost his will to live, though that was _precisely_ what had happened. Whatever he couldn’t set right, he tossed into the closet, and whatever was too frustrating to fix was tossed under the bed. Arthur had attempted to make himself look somewhat presentable, but was startled by the sound of harsh clattering.

A large gust of winter wind had thrown the balcony doors back open.

Arthur cursed under his breath as the biting cold air filled the room, serving to make his features even pinker than they already were. He’d began to chatter again and he grit his teeth, clenching his fists and shoving the doors shut in a loud, fluid motion, enveloping the room in a dim blanket.

It was Christmas, and the entire castle of Spades had been lit like a fire, save for the queen’s chambers.

Arthur had simply lost all hope.

All their subjects had lit candles at their doorsteps as a form of support for the queen, but Arthur hadn’t so much as left his room all that morning. Now that Alfred was coming, what would he think when he saw his queen?

_His stupid, lifeless, hollow queen that had stopped believing in his king._

Arthur clutched his head and bit his lip slightly, on the verge of tears. He’d gone and made a mess, hadn’t he? But it wasn’t his fault! Alfred had left him like this. It was his _king’s_ fault for depriving the queen of him.  

“I don’t remember it being this dark in here.”

Arthur forgot how to breathe. 

He choked on his inhale, almost _feeling_ his pupils blow wider from the rich sound of that familiar voice.

“It’s cold today, huh?”

Green eyes were trained to the floor as Arthur slowly turned toward Alfred. It had been _three years_ damn it! Every cell in Arthur’s body was itching to run forward and just crumple in his husband’s arms, letting the warmth of Alfred’s skin surround him, but he just stood there and watched through his peripheral vision as the king of Spades moved across the room, the sound of his boots clunking against the floor, the _crack_ and _fwoosh_ of a match being lit.

Soon, Arthur could hear the crackling of the flames in the fireplace, and the queen of Spades chewed his inner cheek nervously, staring at Alfred’s worn shoes, too scared to look any further up.

A gasp tumbled out of Arthur’s lips as a warm hand gripped his goose-bumped forearm, fingers clutching Arthur’s chin and tilting those peridot eyes to meet sky blue ones.

“I missed you, Arthur. _So much.”_

Arthur clenched his jaw and turned a pretty pink, wanting so badly to avert his eyes but finding that he couldn’t. 

Alfred had turned a golden tan, a deeper shade than he had been before, and those beautiful blue eyes looked worn and sleepless. Cheekbones were more prominent now, face narrower, flushed pink and streaked with dirt. Caramel hair swept over the bandage on his forehead, and an old cut ran down the edge of his brow, but Alfred still managed to be so damn _gorgeous._ And there Arthur stood with his pasty skin and lopsided bow tie, his classy top hat somewhere in the ruins under his bed. 

He should’ve said something romantic in response, but he found himself mumbling a- “Didn’t you have time to wash up, _git?_   You look like the son of a farmer.”

Arthur flinched at his own words, half-expecting Alfred to be angry with him, but instead, the king grinned, something he must not have done in months.

“As soon as we got here, I came straight up to you. I _had_ to see you, Arthur.”  

Alfred pulled away to reach inside his pocket, fishing out a fistful of a mysterious something. Arthur felt himself being turned toward the smudged mirror on his wall as his king swept his fingers over Arthur’s neck, fastening the cold necklace snugly. Slightly chapped lips brushed against the queen’s ear-

“Emerald, like your eyes.” Alfred whispered. Those very eyes widened as Arthur absent-mindedly rubbed the necklace between his fingers, flushing a deep red. Alfred laughed softly at that, turning a stunned Arthur back to face him, “Searched all over to find one worthy of comparing to your beautiful, _beautiful_ eyes… Merry Christmas.”

With that, he pressed their foreheads together, large calloused hands running through Arthur’s hair, caressing both sides of the little queen’s face. 

It was all too much. Like the pages of a romantic novel. Arthur found his heart beating harder with every word Alfred uttered, and soon it became too much for him to keep bottled up. Arms wrapped themselves around Alfred’s neck and the smaller monarch stood on his toes, smashing his lips onto his king’s. 

Alfred staggered back slightly but soon, a hand traced the shape of Arthur’s hip and the king wrapped an arm around Arthur’s waist to steady himself, ducking down to return his queen’s ministrations.

Slowly, _romantically,_ their lips worked to make up for the years of time they lost. Arthur was forced against the wall as Alfred explored him with his tongue, trying to rediscover his queen, whispering little declarations of love with every breath he pulled away to take.

The queen had forgotten just how a kiss with Alfred was. No one else could ever make him feel so giddy. Now that he was snugly in Alfred’s arms, the Clubs kingdom could come rip their castle to shreds and Arthur simply _wouldn’t care._

He was too selfish. 

Arthur pulled away slightly, fingertips brushing against the necklace that now weighed heavily against his collar-bones.

“I- I didn’t know you were coming home, I didn’t get you any-” the queen trailed off, averting his misty eyes with shame. “I thought you weren’t coming home…”

_Ever._

Alfred chuckled breathlessly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Arthur’s ear only to watch it spring back up defiantly. _“You_ can be my present this Christmas then.”

Despite the swell of Arthur’s heart, the queen raised a thick eyebrow, “How long did it take you to think of that one, Jones?”

“A while, actually.” Alfred said with a grin, looking more like his old self. “Hey, I won an entire battle for you, I think you should cut me some slack.”

A smile tugged at Arthur’s lips, “I should… but I won’t.”

Then they were laughing like nothing else mattered. Arthur’s head leaning against the wall as he gasped for air and Alfred’s arms wrapped around his queen like a vice, just as they were meant to be. Because the king was never supposed to love his queen, but since that rule was long since broken, there was no point in listening to anything else but themselves. 

And even though Arthur had spent many Christmases with Alfred, this one _had_ to be his favorite. Because _this_ one didn’t have any parties or dances, or chatting with intoxicated guests Arthur had to pretend to like- just Alfred all to himself, and that _had_ to be the greatest gift of all.

Alfred produced another something from his pocket, and opened his fist just long enough for Arthur to see the little sprig of mistletoe within. A slow grin spread across his husband’s face, “Now normally, I’d hold it above us, but my arm hurts like a bitch, so just kiss me, will ya?”

So Arthur did. Again, and again, and _again_ until he got used to the feel of Alfred’s touch on his skin, and his king’s lips on his.

(But then again, Arthur could never really get used to that, now could he)


End file.
